


A Subject for Careful Meditation

by sanerontheinside



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Chronic Pain, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Qui-Gon lives au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 07:59:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8481721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanerontheinside/pseuds/sanerontheinside
Summary: Anakin's studies are not going well. Obi-Wan finds his brother-Padawan's progress actively hindered by Temple prejudices and politicking. Concerned, he investigates, then shares his findings with Master Qui-Gon - who is instantly up in arms.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pyrotechnik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrotechnik/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Coal, To Embers, To Flame](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8481232) by [pyrotechnik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrotechnik/pseuds/pyrotechnik). 



> An add-on to pyrotechnik's _Coal, To Embers, To Flame_ \- based on the following prompt: 
> 
> "Imagine Obi-wan, newly knighted, constantly asking to be put on missions and the council is willing to do this, just so he can avoid Qui-Gon and Anakin because he may or may not still be sour or at least feel betrayed by his master because of his actions. And then when Obi-wan is in the temple, he has to actively avoid Anakin since the padawan wants Obi-Wan’s attention so badly because he is one of the few who don't talk behind his back about Qui-Gon apprenticing him, and kind of idolizes Obi-Wan because of what happened on Naboo with the Sith. And when Anakin does manage to find Obi wan in some deserted part of the temple, Obi wan either humors Anakin by being kind while dying inside or just ignores him and makes up some excuse."

It had been truly something to watch his former Master take Anakin’s instructors apart, with simmering anger and a diplomat’s finesse, at that. Mace’s appearance had given him a moment’s worry, but seeing Bant’s cheery wave behind him, Obi-Wan quickly surmised that she’d headed the Councilor off and made a formal complaint herself on the matter of Anakin’s medical records. _Bless you, my friend,_ he sent thankfully along their pair-bond, and turned his attention back to the scene before him. 

Qui-Gon continued uninterrupted, Mace lending silently thunderous support in the background. And Obi-Wan, absurdly, found himself wondering what it would have been like, if Qui-Gon had found him before he’d nearly aged out. He dismissed the thought quickly, as if it had burned him. It certainly had the potential to, and he couldn’t afford the distraction. Qui-Gon was almost done, after all, and Mace seemed to be grounding himself in preparation for a fight of his own. 

Not that he particularly wanted to know what was about to happen to the instructors. Councilor Windu nearly shoved them out and bid them good evening so tersely that Obi-Wan felt in no way envious of them. Qui-Gon stood aside and waited as Obi-Wan thanked Bant properly for a timely intervention. She only waved him off and added that Anakin was staying with Garen for the night - if it was alright with Master Jinn, of course. 

Qui-Gon bowed. “I’d never argue with a Healer, Knight Eerin.” 

She giggled. “Oh, but you always do, Master Jinn. Good evening to you both.” 

And with that they turned and went their separate ways, Obi-Wan falling into step beside his former Master at Qui-Gon’s quiet invitation. “I must thank you, Obi-Wan. Anakin never said a word of this to me.” 

“A subject for later meditations, perhaps, on when to ask for help?”

“Perhaps. Force knows, he doesn’t have trouble there when it comes to coursework. But this - he thought it was perfectly normal to internalise all of that pain and keep going.” Qui-Gon sighed, and passed a hand across his brow. “As the matter stands, I am certain he wouldn’t ask for a bucket of water if he were set on fire.” 

Obi-Wan smiled. “Of course not. Master Windu claims it runs in the lineage.”

“Mace,” Qui-Gon half-growled, “for all his Councilor solemnity, is quite the gossip.” 

Obi-Wan snickered, but said nothing, simply enjoying his Master’s company as he walked with him at his measured pace. They traded a few more bland passing remarks as they went, but Qui-Gon’s mood seemed to falter with every step. 

“Really, though, you might have noticed something was wrong,” Obi-Wan couldn’t help but remark as they walked back into the rooms he’d shared with his Master for years. His feet had brought him here on autopilot, he realised, much to his chagrin. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be intruding. 

“You’re right,” Qui-Gon heaved a sigh and sank into his corner of the couch, eyes shut. “I should have.” 

_I was never a particularly good Master as it is._

The words tumbled like a cold blast of air down Obi-Wan’s spine as he drew stiffly to a halt in the middle of the common room, staring at his former Master. 

Qui-Gon certainly hadn’t meant to broadcast that thought, by the look of him. But they still shared a bond that had never been dissolved, and perhaps he’d unwittingly allowed the shielding to thin. Obi-Wan nudged the bond gently, unwrapping layers of shielding with only an intent to assess. Even so, he watched the familiar features carefully, noticing that the lines seemed to smooth faintly as he renewed contact. That, at least, was heartening. 

What he felt nearly robbed him breath. Unprepared for the pain - the chronic, burning physical hum that Qui-Gon must have been walking around with for months - he nearly went to his knees. 

There had been no Knighting ceremony, no time taken to sit down together and unwind the mental contact. Obi-Wan wouldn’t hear of it after Naboo - severing bonds, on top of recovery from a wound like that? Gods all, not if he had anything to say about it. For once, he even had the backing of the Healers. They’d simply buried it under adamantine shields when it was deemed safe to do so. After Qui-Gon’s discharge from the Healers’ Halls, though, there hadn’t been time - missions upon missions of the worst kind had been worked into Obi-Wan’s schedule. He could now almost safely say the Council didn’t want him around, even if it had started as a joke. 

Not that he hadn’t given them all manner of trouble during his Master’s slow convalescence. But they’d been inclined to underhanded tricks themselves at the time - sending Anakin off without so much as a word to Qui-Gon, resisting his placement in classes. Obi-Wan had never dreamed it would extend to this - a patient, insidious process of weeding out, impeding the boy’s progress at every turn. 

For the last tenday, Obi-Wan had been prowling about, keeping an eye on every one of Anakin’s classes, scowling angrily while Garen kept him off. He’d wondered countless times - where was Qui-Gon? Why wasn’t he here, seeing this? Why didn’t he suspect something? 

Then again, when it came to younglings, Obi-Wan was also beginning to realise that he’d dealt with his own situation rather like Anakin was now attempting to handle his. Even on the best of days, a child might mistake exhaustion and withdrawal for something else - disappointment, rejection, muted anger - when in truth it was a chronic hum of pain. And in this case, while the hum was of quite a physical origin, it didn’t help with the mental. 

_Maybe I’ve been too harsh,_ Obi-Wan considered, watching his Master’s brows knit in a tired expression. Qui-Gon had always been the one to point out the failings of the Order, after all. Maybe Obi-Wan had assumed he would have no blind spots whatsoever. But who could be held to such a standard? And who in their right mind wouldn’t hope the Jedi would have common sense when it came to their younglings? _Force, now I’m getting cynical,_ Obi-Wan muttered, muscles twitching in a suppressed grimace. 

Though really, they’d never accepted Anakin as one of theirs. The realisation stung, more so for the fact that it was a belated one. 

Still, he was surprised by Qui-Gon’s uncharacteristic slip. Suddenly very worried, Obi-Wan shuffled his shields aside altogether to reach along their old training bond. What he found still further along that contact cut into him with icy tendrils. 

_Never a good Master - why should this be different? - failed Obi-Wan - failing Anakin now -_

Qui-Gon hadn’t even bothered to shield _any_ of that. Perhaps he’d assumed Obi-Wan wouldn’t be listening. 

Obi-Wan could barely reign in his immediate reaction. He wanted to cry out in protest, though that certainly wouldn’t have helped. He looked around the familiar common room, and realised yet again that he’d been missing things - obvious things. 

Qui-Gon still moved stiffly - that much had been hard to miss. Anakin’s models and half-made mechanicals were everywhere, but traces of Qui-Gon’s presence seemed to be limited to that corner of the couch. His datapads lay on that end of the table, and it was the nearest seat to the shortest path from the door of their quarters to the Master’s bedroom. A brief glance with the aid of the Force confirmed his suspicious. Obi-Wan was further willing to bet Qui-Gon hadn’t seem a Mind Healer after Naboo - not that he could be sure it would have helped. After all, his Master was a reticent bastard. 

_Then again, a Mind Healer might not actually be all that helpful,_  Obi-Wan thought as he studied the traces a little more closely. _Hells, when had he last seen a_ Healer?  _Surely he shouldn’t still be in this much pain? He’s shielding it so well, other things are slipping free._

With a guilty start, Obi-Wan realised he hadn’t been there for the most crucial part of Qui-Gon’s recovery. Healers in their sterile ward could work their wonders, yet those wonders would count for nothing if no one could walk their patient through the months after that. To welcome him home, to remind him it was alright that he wasn’t recovering faster. That, if this was all he could do for now, he shouldn’t feel useless for it. 

(That, if this was the best he could ever do, he could still adapt to it.) 

And Obi-Wan hadn’t fought the Council on this. He’d simply gone off and left Anakin with a problem the boy couldn’t really be expected to know what to do with. Obi-Wan hid a wince. Not so different, then, from the start of his own apprenticeship. Only this was a situation of Obi-Wan’s own making. 

He wondered, in an absent sort of way, how long he’d been standing there, frozen solid in the middle of the quarters he’d known as home for so long, with the odd sense that _Qui-Gon_ was feeling like the alien in them niggling at the back of his mind. He wondered how to even begin to unwind that knot sitting at the Master’s end of the training bond. 

Well, he did have a beginning.   
  


* * *

Whatever reserve Qui-Gon might have had, it melted away steadily with every step towards his quarters. He’d been all but trapped in-Temple, ever under someone well-meaning Healer’s watchful eye in the salle, or the more prying, curious eyes of young Knights and Padawans. He’d been hiding, he knew, for months now. But he nearly hated the look of those walls suddenly. They carried his mood, a daily reminder of lingering weakness, and nightly they watched his dreams. The mood, predictably, fell over him like a grey pall the moment he stepped through his doors, and Obi-Wan’s suddenly subdued presence was as much an indicator of the choking strength of it.

Qui-Gon’s resigned sigh had been met with a protracted silence - uncharacteristic of Obi-Wan’s sharp wit, but frankly not unexpected in the face of the admission. Qui-Gon had failed twice over as a Master already, and it wouldn’t be right for Obi-Wan to contradict that. It wouldn’t be fair to him at all. 

Qui-Gon might have expected soothing words from anyone else, but did not want them. They’d seem empty anyway, and Obi-Wan had always had the kindness not to lie to him. He couldn’t bear to even look up at his former Padawan, this shining example of a Knight who’d come so far in spite of all of Qui-Gon’s failings. 

So he sat, eyes closed against the spectre of Obi-Wan’s blank stare, not a hint of emotion in that gaze, nor a touch of forgiveness for an old fool. That would be no less than what he deserved, Qui-Gon knew, but that didn’t mean he could stand to see it. 

But there was only silence from the middle of the room, not even a hint of movement, for a few long moments. He wondered if Obi-Wan was preparing himself to speak - to bring down the judgement on his head that he so deserved. Qui-Gon even welcomed it, in a resigned sort of way, suddenly exhausted. Certainly, it had been a relatively eventful day, but to feel like this was the limit of his abilities? It still stung. 

At last there was a rustle of robes as Obi-Wan turned. Qui-Gon didn’t even open his eyes. His former Padawan was leaving, and that was just as well - _leave an old man to his misery._  

Except that he never heard the swish of the door. 

Instead, in a few moments, he heard soft sounds from his kitchen - familiar hands setting the kettle, opening cupboards, preparing tea. His brow furrowed in confusion, his brain helpfully supplying that perhaps Obi-Wan had _turned the other way -_  

_But why?_

That, Qui-Gon found, he could not answer. 

Moments later the scent of tea wafted through the air to him. The barest sound of the tray being set down at the table at his feet informed him, however he struggled to believe it, that Obi-Wan hadn’t left. He heard the clinking of tea cups, just as convincing a sound as the scent of his favourite blend, as the warmth that reached his nose. The most jarring, perhaps, was the sense of the couch shifting to accommodate Obi-Wan’s weight, or the soft press of a shoulder against his own as a cup was brought to his hands. 

“Not old, Master,” Obi-Wan chided gently. 

Qui-Gon’s eyes flew open. Kriff, _shielding,_ he was _broadcasting_ - 

“Shh, don’t worry about it. It’s just the old bond, Master - you haven’t been shielding it heavily. We can fix that later, if you like. It’s alright, I sense almost nothing else from you.” 

_Lie,_ Qui-Gon realised. But even the guilt was a bit much to face, so he didn’t argue. Obi-Wan sighed, which possibly meant he’d failed to shield that too.  

Once again the tea was pressed insistently into his hands, and as the initial panic wore off, Qui-Gon accepted it. 

Obi-Wan said nothing more for the moment, but even the tangible warmth of his presence was a kind of comfort. 

_And the tea - !_  

Qui-Gon made a soft, appreciative noise into his cup. In the last few years, he’d been less and less inclined to make tea for himself when Obi-Wan was there to make it for him. Tea was the most crucial of a very few things he could be entrusted with in the kitchen. But in Obi-Wan’s hands, the blend, the care that went into its preparation, the innate sense of timing that always returned the right strength and flavour - it wasn’t just Sapir anymore. 

Qui-Gon hadn’t the faintest idea how Obi-Wan managed to bring out something new in a blend that had been his favourite for decades. Even that, on a bad day, was enough to crush what little was left of his spirits, while he stood in the kitchen watching the kettle and brewing his own cup. The result was somehow lackluster, and for the life of him Qui-Gon couldn’t say why. 

“That was the wrong thing to say, wasn’t it? About not noticing.” 

Qui-Gon looked up. “Hm? Oh. No, you’re right, of course. I should have been more attentive.”

Obi-Wan was watching him carefully, with a dubious expression, as if he didn’t quite believe him. 

“I didn’t have a Knighting ceremony,” Obi-Wan said. He was quietly thoughtful, as though considering the next six moves in a game of _dejarik_ that his Master could not see. Qui-Gon, presented with this look of intense concentration, found himself wavering between curious and apprehensive. “No fanfare, no witnesses. Yoda severed the braid on Naboo.”

The Master drew in a sharp breath looked away again, trying not to wince. He could almost feel the phantom ache flare in his chest, but said nothing, wondering what Obi-Wan had in mind. 

It was ever Qui-Gon’s fate to be surprised by him, it seemed, for the young Knight slid off the couch to kneel at his feet, taking one of Qui-Gon’s hands with him as he went. Bewildered, he shuddered and turned back to look at him.  

“My Master,” Obi-Wan began solemnly, reverently. “I’ve been waiting for the proper time to do this, but I think, perhaps, that there isn’t a better time than now.” 

He brought out a small pouch, and gingerly undid the laces. 

“The Council conferred upon me the title of Jedi Knight,” he said, “but the ceremony is meaningless without the presence of the Master.” 

Qui-Gon’s eyes widened as Obi-Wan’s presence in the Force unfurled around them almost visibly, sinking into every surface in reach until it felt like Obi-Wan had never left. And Qui-Gon, for his part, suddenly felt like it was easier to breathe. 

It wasn’t any sort of ritual he was familiar with, but as he listened, he realised Obi-Wan had knit together some of the older ceremonies - and words from his own heart. 

“Master Jinn, I have sworn an oath to you, to follow in your steps and learn from you, yet two steps to the left, that I may know how to adapt your teachings. I swore to always be at your back, your support and protection when you had need of it, just as you always were for me. Have I fulfilled my oaths to you?”

Qui-Gon seemed unable to speak at first. “You have,” he managed hoarsely. 

“May it be granted to me to continue along my own path, now as Knight of the Order?”

“Obi-Wan -” 

Obi-Wan stopped with a pained expression when he heard the pleading note in Qui-Gon’s voice. 

“Obi-Wan, I had nothing to do with this,” the Master said quietly. 

“Ah, but you did,” Obi-Wan was quick to assure him, a warm smile on his face bringing light and warmth to forgotten places in Qui-Gon’s mind, spreading smoothly along the dormant bond like sunrise. “You had everything to do with it, Qui-Gon. Never doubt that.”

Qui-Gon caught a glimpse of something thin, coiled, and auburn red slipping out of the pouch and tried - fruitlessly - to snatch his hand back. Obi-Wan merely tightened his grip the slightest bit.

“You took a Padawan who’d nearly aged out. Who was ready to fight the whole world by himself, and probably get himself killed. I certainly put quite a bit of work into it,” he ducked his head with a wry smile. 

Qui-Gon stared down at his former Padawan’s open expression for a long moment, stunned. “My Padawan,” Qui-Gon said, struggling to speak audibly, “you have saved my life more times than I could count, and in more ways that I could have imagined possible. There was no one more worthy of becoming a Jedi Knight than the boy I finally learned to see on Bandomeer, but I thought so many times that I was the wrong choice for a Master.” 

He took a deep breath, steeling himself - for what, he wasn’t yet sure. “You have fulfilled your oaths to me in full, Padawan Kenobi. I confirm your place as Knight of the Order.” 

It was almost as though the Force itself rang with the power in those words. The thin silk length of the auburn braid was wrapped around Qui-Gon’s wrist as he stared at their joined hands mutely. A bittersweet moment, Qui-Gon thought, realising that - really, he hadn’t seen his former Padawan in over a year. Perhaps he’d already let go. It took the gentle brush of a calloused thumb over his knuckles to draw his eyes back up to meet Obi-Wan’s clear, but concerned gaze. 

“Master, I’d like to ask something of you.” 

“Anything, Obi-Wan,” he answered almost instantly. 

A wry grin danced across his former Padawan’s lips. “Don’t answer so quickly, you might be tempted to renege in a moment.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “Doubtful. What is it you wish to ask?”

Obi-Wan seemed unsure how to begin. It was odd: his Knight, a flame in the Force, who could compose a ceremony that meant more than a hundred Knightings kneeling on the floor of their common room, was stuttering over a personal request of some sort. 

Qui-Gon felt an odd twinge that had nothing to do with his aching scars. He leaned forward - in spite of the intensified burning - and grasped his shoulder. “Anything you ask of me, Obi-Wan, I will give freely. There is nothing I would not do for you.” 

Obi-Wan stared for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Ah. I was wondering if, perhaps - well, the Healers said you were still recovering, but that you might eventually be cleared for duty - so, I was hoping I might ask you -” he hesitated again, but to his credit only a few seconds - “to form a pairbond with me.” 

Qui-Gon blinked. “A pairbond? But I wouldn’t be out in the field with you.”

“Not at first, perhaps. But I understand they are considering a schedule of lighter mission rotations to present to you as an option. And it wouldn’t really matter if we didn’t have the same schedule. I mean - I miss you, Qui-Gon.” 

_Oh._  

Those words struck a chord like nothing else. “And I’ve missed you, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon admitted with a faint smile. “I would be honoured to form a pairbond with you, my former Padawan, and very pleased.” 

“Thank you, Master.” Obi-Wan’s smile was radiant, his joy singing in the Force. “Can you lower your shields to me?” 

Qui-Gon froze. To lower shields would mean - 

“It’s alright, Qui. Let me help. I can try to release some of the pain into the Force, but I need you to let me in. Please, let me help you.” 

In the face of that offer, the sincerity wrapping around and warming him, Qui-Gon was sorely tempted to just let go. He’d been fighting this alone, without so much as a hint of hope, for months - if only it were so easy to just let go - 

He tried, he really tried to take down those barriers slowly. But it was like taking a dam apart - the flood was nearly impossible to hold back. Obi-Wan was there, in his mind, encouraging him with every step and keeping close in spite of the pain that threatened to tear Qui-Gon apart. 

And then there was quiet. Silence, or at least relative silence, where the low drone used to be. Golden Coruscant afternoon light spilling in through the floor-length window and spreading warmth along his skin. He hadn’t felt so warm in months. 

_Hello there,_ Obi-Wan voice greeted him, quietly. 

Qui-Gon smiled. _Hello,_ he nudged the pairbond back. It thrummed warmly, welcoming and bright. _I never imagined it could be that effective,_ he remarked, wondering at how much easier it was to breathe suddenly. 

_How long since you’ve been able to release any of your pain into the Force?_ Obi-Wan asked, concerned. 

_I don’t think -_  

He wasn’t sure, really. Eyebrows knit, eyes still closed, he tried to trace back the time since he’s last been able to settle into meditation properly. Oh, he’d meditated, but ever with that background weight. 

_Not for a while,_ he admitted. 

“There were a few unfriendly thoughts in there, I think. We could meditate together, if you’ll let me,” Obi-Wan offered, almost tentatively. 

Qui-Gon finally opened his eyes to look at him. “Please?” Then he chuckled ruefully. “Meditations on when to ask for help, indeed.”

“Perhaps we all have need of them,” Obi-Wan agreed. A finger tapped lightly against the rim of Qui-Gon’s cup. “Another?” 

Qui-Gon looked down, realising with a start that the cup was long empty. “Please,” he murmured, half-smiling. The look on Obi-Wan’s face lit up the room. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So this brings to mind my plan for importing some tumblr shorts to ao3 in the near future... new series incoming...


End file.
